


O Tannenbaum

by westyellowgroom



Series: Into the Forest [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 21:42:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16206224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westyellowgroom/pseuds/westyellowgroom
Summary: Set during TLD (S4, E2), after the debacle with Culverton Smith but before Sherlock’s birthday. Mycroft had Sherlock committed, yet again, to a rehabilitation facility immediately after being released from Smith’s hospital. Mycroft is supervising a coup overseas, Sherlock’s parents are in the USA and Mrs. Hudson is at her sisters. Sherlock is delivered on Christmas Eve to John’s townhouse. Sherlock is spending the Holidays with John and Rosie. The boys spend the time decorating, baking and getting to know one another again.





	1. Gingernuts

**Author's Note:**

> Following this timeline, Rosie is only a few weeks old according to the BBC but I fudged a few of her abilities.
> 
> The cot referenced is an ancient, folding, wood-framed canvas type.  
> * Excerpt from Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson.
> 
> Recipes:  
> Links to the recipes mentioned in order of appearance. Modifications I made to the recipes are mentioned as part of the storyline.  
> https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/269616/gingernut-biscuits  
> https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/shortbread_1290  
> https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/11609/shortbread  
> http://paulhollywood.com/recipes/french-squares/  
> https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/honeybread-biscuits  
> https://www.kingarthurflour.com/recipes/classic-scones-  
> https://www.wholefoodsmarket.com/recipe/orange-cranberry-sauce  
> https://www.thespruceeats.com/bread-machine-recipes-a2-3051778  
> https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/alton-brown/eggnog-recipe2-2013745

John Hamish Watson MD tries not to think too much about the tragedy his life has been. Abusive alcoholic father and an overstressed mother who worked most nights leaving John and his older sister, Harry, alone with an incoherent or vicious drunkard depending upon how inebriated he became. A close minded father who could not fathom how a child of his could turn out to be gay. The same father who beat his own daughter half to death the day she came out to her loving family. The inebriated father who broke John’s right arm while he was trying to prevent his sister being beaten to death. The same father John was very careful not to show in any way, shape or form, that he was attracted to boys just as much as he was to girls. An alcoholic father who wrapped the only car the family owned around a tree one night on his way home from the local pub when John was 17. A father who did not see the need for life insurance, leaving his overworked, stressed, widowed wife to pay off funeral expenses as best she could with their meager savings.

His mother died of cancer while he was overseas in Afghanistan, something his sister has never forgiven him for. Harry felt John should have been home finding a cure for their mother instead of gallivanting around, having fun, in a foreign country. John never could get through to his sister Harry that he was not on holiday while he was in the armed forces. Time and again he was stationed where the fighting and bloodshed were the fiercest. That and the fact his mother never bothered to tell him, or anybody else for that matter, she was feeling poorly until it was too late for anyone to do anything about it.

He remembers those weeks of pain, misery and despair after being invalided home. No prospect of getting a job. Just a washed up has-been, good for nothing to anyone anymore. His sister was following in their fathers footsteps of being a nasty drunkard. Most of his friends these days were in the army and still stationed overseas. He had little money left in his name as his sister had raided his bank accounts, unbeknownst to him, to pay off her gambling and bar debts. The two of them never did get on well and her theft only widened the gap in their strained relationship.

His best friend faked a suicide in front of him and disappeared for over two years, leaving him to grieve; even more miserable than he’d ever felt before in his life. John has lost count of how many times he seriously thought of following his friend off that very same roof or just putting a bullet through his brain. He is not sure how he has lasted as long as he has.

He met a woman, who helped to fill up some of the gaping hole in his heart that his best friend left behind. Mainly because she wouldn’t take no for an answer every time she asked him out for coffee often barging into his office at work to share lunch if he wanted to or not. A woman who turned out to be lying to him through their entire relationship. A woman he found out was not who she said she was. A woman whom he almost cheated on while she was still breastfeeding their baby. A woman he didn’t grieve too much for when she was killed, so little as to feel guilty for not feeling more grief. So guilty he started hallucinating, or more like imagining, her presence still hanging around, giving him unwanted advice.

To this day, even though he is a highly trained doctor, he cannot figure out how Mary became pregnant with the baby girl napping upstairs. A daughter who he ran a paternity test on as soon as she was born as he was so careful to use protection when the two of them were intimate. John is glad he has Rosie in his life, but he never, ever, in his wildest dreams considered ending up to be a single parent while trying to pay off a mortgage on a part-time salary.

The only other highlights he can recall are summers spent with his grandparents before they died much too young. Being accepted to medical school, on an almost a full scholarship, and the special training the army offered him to become a trauma surgeon. 

And of course the day he ran into Mike Stamford in the park, on a pivotal day, who introduced him to a certain consulting detective named Sherlock Holmes. John fondly recalls the cases, chasing after the mad man through back streets and over rooftops tracking down clues and criminals. Granted it wasn’t all sunshine and roses but the good far outweighed the bad. The trust and comradery he had never felt with anyone else, before or since and he has missed most profoundly. 

John was so far into his head, feeling sorry for what his life had become at this point that he didn’t hear his front door open, or click closed for that matter. He jumps, adrenalin pumping through his system when a familiar baritone voice speaks to him.

“Hello John.” Sherlock appears and sounds nervous, dropping his bags in the entryway. Dressed in old threadbare sweatpants and one of John’s old army t-shirts he had thought he had lost, several days’ worth of stubble on his face. Belstaff hanging loosely from his much too thin frame. No scarf or gloves visible.

“Oh, hello... I, um, didn’t hear you knock.” John is surprised by the voice as well as Sherlock’s appearance.

Sherlock notices John is dressed in denims and a blue checked button down shirt (sleeves rolled up), socks but no shoes or slippers. Still wearing his wedding ring. Tired, hasn’t been sleeping well lately, either nightmares or the baby; more than likely both if the bags under his eyes are any indication. “Yeah, Mycroft’s minion let me in; he had a key.”

John, frowning, “I’m going to have to have a serious talk with your brother about boundaries.”

Timid, “Th, thank you for letting me come.”

Starting to relax and slowly becoming confused, “Why wouldn’t I? You shouldn’t be alone at Christmas, especially just out of rehab.”

“Mycroft was going to leave me in that place until he came back. So, thank you for letting me come stay.” Wholehearted gratitude.

Humble, “You’re welcome” then mumbled in a low growl, “really going to have to have a long talk with that man.”

Turning back to the hob to drop a blob of dough on the tray, “Oh, no smoking in the house, don’t want to expose Rosie to the smoke.” John calls over his shoulder.

“Nicotine patches, no problem. Where is Watson?” curious. Taking off, and hanging his coat on a free peg near the door. Sherlock notices John’s phone, on a small table by the pegs, plugged into a charger next to a small stack of bills on top of a shirt box.

“Napping, upstairs.” A bit more upbeat.

Sherlock takes a few steps forward and looks through to the lounge, “Tree looks nice, real?”

Nodding, “Yes, thanks, still needs some work.”

Turning to look back into the kitchen, “Smells good in here, what are you cooking?” 

“Ginger nuts. Somehow Harry ended up with all of Mum and Gran’s cookbooks, a few years’ back I asked her to send a copy of the family recipes. I suspect Clara typed them out for me. This was one of our favorites at Christmas.”

“They are my favorite too.” Slowly stepping closer, “I didn’t know you knew how to bake.”

“Didn’t need to when we lived together, Mrs. Hudson kept us well stocked in baked goods. That and it was near impossible with all the lab equipment all over the kitchen.” Teasing, then serious. “Do you want to go freshen up? I have an extra razor and an old electric shaver in the loo upstairs that I think still works. Let’s get your bags upstairs. I put a cot in Rosie’s room, you can take my bed.” 

“Alright, but I won’t toss you out of your bed though.” Grabbing a bag and following John with the other, up the stairs.

John peeks in the door to Rosie’s room (Sherlock glances over his shoulder) before quietly shutting it. Then walks down the short hall to his bedroom with Sherlock a step behind. As John goes through the door he starts talking, “I changed the sheets this morning, and there are extra blankets on the top shelf in the wardrobe. The set of towels on the bed are for you. The water glasses in the loo are clean. Anything I forgot?”

Warily, “Only one thing John.” Sherlock looks John in the eyes, “You can’t sleep on that cot, you’d be in agony. Sleep in your bed, I don’t mind sharing.” Pleading eyes, desperate.

Serious, “I don’t know Sherlock… my PTSD… it’s gotten worse since Mary…” cough, “I don’t want to hurt you accidently. I’ll be okay with the cot.”

Sherlock shakes his head in annoyance, pointing at the rug, “The floor would be more comfortable!” he growls out, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Rosie. “It’s Christmas…”

Sigh, “Alright, I’ll think about it.” Cough, “There’s room if you want to hang anything up. The right side of the breakfront is empty. The electric razor is in the bottom drawer.” Pointing to the loo. Pats Sherlock’s arm on his way out. 

Sherlock watches John until he’s out of sight then unpacks what needs to hang up. He spots a reflection of himself in the mirror and decides he needs to clean up and try shaving with his still trembling hands.

\---

“Do you need any help?” Sherlock asks sheepishly entering the kitchen 20-minutes later.

John grins at an easier to recognize Sherlock, grey slacks, white button down and clean shaven, still too thin. “Make tea? The next tray is about ready to come out of the oven.”

Sherlock hastens to comply, grabbing two mugs and a box of teabags out of the cabinet as well. “You shouldn’t sacrifice your bed for me John, I can kip with Rosie or on the couch.”

“I’m not leaving you down here on your own.” Grumbled, takes a calming breath, “Rosie wakes in the night still, you don’t need to deal with her dirty diapers.”

Resigned sigh, “It wouldn’t be the first time. Besides, the cot will wreak havoc with your shoulder. It’s only a few nights, surely we can share a bed? We’ve done so before on cases out of town…”

Oven timer ‘dings’ at the same time the kettle comes to a boil and clicks off. John grabs mitts to remove the biscuits from the oven as Sherlock pours hot water over the teabags. John places the hot tray on the hob and puts the next tray in the oven, setting the timer. John grabs a plate from the cabinet next to Sherlock to put a few of the hot biscuits on. In unison they turn toward the table with their treats. Sherlock with a nervous smile. John with a grin that feels odd to him it’s been so long.

John sits and signals for Sherlock to do the same. They each grab a biscuit and take a bite.

“Mmmm, these are good” Sherlock garbles while chewing.

“Ta” raising his mug toward Sherlock.

“Is anyone else coming over?”

“Mrs. Hudson went to her sisters, but you knew that. Molly and Greg are coming over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. They’ll both text later to let me know if they can come over tonight or not. Hope it’s not a problem?”

“No. No I don’t mind... Harry busy?”

Scowling, angry growl, “She’s having too much fun bar hopping to come spend time with her family.” John closes his eyes for a moment, taking another calming breath, “Oh, I asked Greg to bring by some cold cases by for you to look at, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Excellent! You know me too well.” Excited.

Shy smile, “I did live with you, I might have picked up a thing or two.” The oven timer ‘dings’ with the next tray of biscuits. John rises to trade trays again.

“Were you going to bake anything else?” Sherlock questions.

“If you feel up to it, I stocked up on baking goods just in case. I thought we could make shortbread, Jammie dodgers and maybe honeybread biscuits.”

Sherlock smiles as his stomach rumbles, helping himself to warm cookie, “Yes to all?”

John smiles back, “Brilliant!” sitting and taking another sip of his tea with a contented smile.


	2. Shortbread

“Finished with your tea Sherlock?” 

“Yep” popping the ‘p’, seeming more relaxed already. “I, um, just need to, ah. Freshen up” wandering toward the small restroom under the stairs.

John squares his shoulders, “I’ll gather the ingredients for the shortbread while you’re gone then.”

John has butter, flour and sugar along with an electric mixer on the cleared kitchen table when Sherlock walks back in. The cooled ginger nuts are piled a plate on the counter next to an old shortbread pan. John looks up, “The recipes say the dough has to chill for 20-30 minutes. Figure we can mix these then put a few more decorations up?”

Sherlock wanders over to the pan on the counter, it’s ceramic, well used. Obviously clearly loved.

John quietly walks behind Sherlock to run a finger gently over the edge of the pan. “This was one of my Grans, she left the pans to me when she passed away since she knew Harry didn’t like to bake. Gran taught me how when I was little. Harry and I, we spent summers in Scotland with our Watson Grandparents until they passed. Harry couldn’t be bothered with family even back then… Gran made sure I could take care of myself, she probably knew I’d need all the help I could get.” John gives a slight full body shake, “This was her favorite pan, traditional hearts and thistles. Gran had another pan with stars but it was broken.” John’s voice breaks on the last word.

Softly, “How did it break John?”

“Dad and Harry were arguing, drunk. I tried to save it but wasn’t fast enough.” Depressed. 

Sherlock places a hand on John’s good shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze. “Let’s make better memories then, shall we?” 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m thankful I still have something to remember Gran by.” John turns, “So, I figured we’d do two types of shortbread, rolled and in the pan. Sound alright?” Brighter with a half-smile.

“I’m here for you, whatever you need. Whatever you want.” Sincere.

“Right… (Cough) Right, let’s start with the rolled recipe then.” John picks up a printout of a recipe, “Okay, we’ll need to cream together butter and sugar. Can you do that while I measure out the flour?”

“I’m on it Captain!” saluting John as he grabs the mixer and pulls it closer along with his ingredients.

John gives Sherlock a quick smile, turns to measure out the flour onto a piece of parchment. When done he places it next to Sherlock along with a wooden spoon. “When the butter and sugar are pale and smooth, incorporate the flour gently; you’ll need to use your hands by the end.”

Sherlock shuts down the electric mixer to re-wash and dry his hands. He returns to the table to incorporate the flour into the butter mixture.

John readies the trays with parchment paper and places them on the end of the table. “When it’s more or less incorporated, turn it out and knead it gently together. Then pat or roll it out to about a centimeter thick. Oooh, almost forgot the cutters.” John opens a cabinet and removes a large, old, well used, wooden cigar box. Inside are a few old biscuit cutters in assorted shapes. “Do you want traditional round or a star?”

Sherlock looks at John and quickly glances in the box, “Both,” looking up hopeful, “do you have any colored sugar?”

“Brilliant! Let me see, I’m not sure actually.” John rummages in another cabinet, mumbling under his breath, until, “Success!” Turning with a huge grin he hands over jars of red and green colored sanding sugar.

“Perfect, we can do a tray of red stars and one of green rounds… if that’s okay?” Sherlock started out positive and turned timid toward the end.

Frowning, “Of course. Of course it’s okay Sherlock.” John hands over a fluted round and a star biscuit cutter. “Why don’t you cut those out and I’ll start the other recipe.” 

John pulls out a food processor and adds butter and sugar, giving it a few pulses until smooth. He adds the flour and whizzes the mixture until it forms a ball. Grabbing the butter dish on the counter along with a brush he generously butters his Grans pan. When done, he tips the mixture into the pan, pressing and smoothing it in evenly. When ready he pricks it with a fork then sprinkles it with caster sugar. “This one is ready to chill.” Turning to see how Sherlock is doing, “How close are you… Fantastic!”

Sherlock has his trays full, with evenly spaced and perfectly decorated biscuits. To his credit Sherlock blushes, “I cut the second rolling into rectangles and split them between the trays.”

“Excellent. Let me put Grans pan in the fridge, then you can place your trays on top. Do you want to make the dough for the jammie dodgers or do some decorating?” 

“How long do these have to chill?” 

“About 20-30 minutes, Gran always did 25 minutes.”

“Let’s decorate then, we can make more dough when these go in the oven. There isn’t a lot of space left in your refrigerator right now between the ham, turkey and the other food in there. Are you feeding an army?” looking at John at the end.

“Yeah, the ham is for tonight so it can come to room temperature if needs be; figure we can freeze most of the leftovers after supper. But let’s finish the tree… I managed to get the lights on and some of the ornaments. Tough decorating with an infant crawling about. There’s another box of decorations on the couch.” There is an open box by the tree as well as a closed one on the couch.

Sherlock wanders over to the couch to open the box, frowning at the contents. “I don’t recognize any of these…” He turns to John.

John turns a faint pink and looks at the floor. “The decorations I used to put up at Baker Street I, ah, borrowed from Mrs. Hudson. These are Mary’s, she had them before we married.”

“Oh.” Sherlock goes still, taking a silver foil garland out of the box, “Where do you want this then?” Gently.

“Sherlock? You okay?” John looks at the box in front of Sherlock, “I… I couldn’t face going to the stores to buy decorations. It was almost all I could do to buy the tree, I took the first decent one… I felt Rosie needed… We don’t have to use these…” desperate, hesitating and frazzled.

Sherlock exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, “No, but we will, for Watson’s sake. She should have the best Christmas memories we can give her.” Looks John in the eyes, quirking a smile, “I deleted it, garland first or ornaments? One would think the garland so as not to knock anything off…” Sherlock looks around the room. “Or drape it over something else?” 

John pats his arm, “Just go crazy, and use your best judgement. I trust you.” He pulls another strand out of the box. “There’s a lot of garland in here…” Drops it on the cushion.

Sherlock looks around, “How about around the window? There’s another string of lights in here too, they’d look festive together.” Starting to sound cheerier again.

“Once again, brilliant. Why don’t you do that and I’ll hang the mistletoe Mrs. Hudson brought over before she left for her sisters.” John grabs a length of red ribbon out of the box and wanders back to the front door and the side table there. Opening a bag he extracts a bundle of green sprigs and ties the ribbon around in a festive bow. “Now, where to hang you…” turning and looking around.

Sherlock by the window, finds the middle of the garland and the light string and eyeballs the center of the window. He fastens them over the curtain hook, lets it drape and attaches them at the corners. There’s just enough cord for the lights to plug into the socket. 

Behind him Sherlock hears, “Oh that looks nice. Can I borrow the stepladder for a moment?” 

Turning, John is right behind him. “Of course John.” Breathy. Folds the short ladder and hands it over, fingers touching. 

Neither knows, but they are both blushing, they aren’t looking at one another. “Ta” John quickly takes the ladder to the opening between the kitchen and lounge. He spots a small nail from years past that is perfect for hooking the mistletoe on. “Sherlock? Could you hand me the other garland? I think it would look good draped over the opening, don’t you?” 

Sherlock, “Yes.” Quickly walks to the couch and back handing John the middle of the garland first.

“Ah, thanks! There are small nails up here, must have been something draped over here before.” John hooks the garland over the nails he can reach. Sherlock reaches up to finish the ends as he’s tall enough to catch the end nails without the ladder. “Ta.” John climbs down and steps back. “Looks good, Rosie will be surprised when she wakes up. What else is in the box?”

Sherlock looks, “A box of red and another of silver ornaments. One more garland and another string of lights…” Sherlock looks over at the hearth. “Do you have a… stocking, for Watson?”

John returns to the table by the front door calling over his shoulder, “Mrs. Hudson said she brought a stocking for Rosie, must be in the box. I didn’t look when she dropped it off on the way out of town.” John comes back into the lounge, places the shirt box on the coffee table and opens it. “Sherlock? Did you tell anyone else you were coming here?”

“No John, why?” confused.

Laughing, John reaches into the box, turning to hold up his treasure, “Mrs. Hudson sent over your stocking along with the one she made for me when I was at Baker Street. There’s a new one for Rosie. That woman is a saint!” 

Sherlock pales, “John, I just got released out of rehab today… I haven’t had a chance to do any shopping…”

“Sherlock, relax. Anthea dropped by presents the day I agreed to let you stay here. There are gifts for Rosie and me as well as for you from Mycroft and your folks. Don’t worry about anything, we’re not going out on December 24th for anything if we can avoid it!” Beaming. “That reminds me, she handed me another box under strict orders to not open it, just to give it to you. Anthea said you’d know what to do with it…” John walks over to the closet and grabs a large cardboard box. He hands it over to Sherlock, “Here, this is it. You should probably open it where I can’t see just in case.” John goes into the kitchen to start the oven preheating.

Sherlock quietly opens the box, smiles a huge smile and seals it again. “John, I’m going to take this upstairs. I’ll be right back.” He bounds quietly up the stairs, still smiling.

John is humming a holiday tune while placing red and silver baubles on the tree when Sherlock returns a few minutes later, still smiling. 

“If Anthea ever leaves my brother he will be hopelessly lost. He’ll need at least dozen people to accomplish what she does.” Sherlock mentions while grabbing a couple baubles to hang on the tree. He notices that John had time to hang three stockings along with another garland and the last string of lights over the hearth.

John nods, “Yeah, I know. Somedays I wish I could borrow her for a few hours.”

Sherlock goes back to the box on the couch, noticing something else in the box from Mrs. Hudson. “Um, John? Mrs. Hudson sent over something else…” He reaches in and pulls out a dainty ‘baby’s first Christmas’ ornament with Rosie’s name and the year in gold filigree.

John walks over to look at what Sherlock is holding up. “Oh my… That woman… How…” glancing up at Sherlock noticing there is a tear on his cheek as well. “Do the honors, my hands are shaking too much.” John waves a shaky hand toward the tree. 

Sherlock looks at John then the tree and back. Nods then walks to the tree studying it as he goes. He hangs the ornament at Johns’ eye level, in a prominent place on the tree. 

“John, did my brother happen to send over my laptop?”

“No, not that I know of… if you need to check anything mine is at the end of the couch next to your violin.” John points. “I’m under strict orders to not let you out of my sight while you’re here…” reminding.

“Youtube John, not going anywhere. We should be listening to carols while decorating and baking, Mummy always does.” Sherlock pulls up the Celtic Women Christmas and hits play, keeping the volume down so as not to wake Rosie.

“I need to learn another word other than brilliant for you…” John starts.

Smug, “Well, there is ‘marvelous, magnificent, dazzling, exceptional and gifted’ to name a few.” Beaming.

John laughs, “I think it’s time to put the shortbread in the oven and start our next dough.” He looks around, the storage box by the tree is empty. The one on the couch only has a few things left. The place is looking rather merry, much better than before. Glancing around he notices where Sherlock is standing. John licks his lips and saunters over to his friend. “You know there is a tradition associated with mistletoe.” John nods above Sherlock’s head where the green bundle is hanging.

“And what would that be John?” Sherlock asks confused, frowning slightly.

“You don’t know?” John licks his lips again, “Must have deleted it then.” John reaches up to grab a berry then brings Sherlock’s head down to kiss him on the lips. “You have to kiss whoever is standing under it. It promises a long and happy life and good luck.” murmured.

Sherlock stands frozen while John proceeds to the fridge, placing the berry in his trouser pocket on the way.

John takes the three pans out before he realizes Sherlock hasn’t moved. “Sherlock? You okay?” John’s thinking ‘this is like when I asked him to be my best man’. Ignoring Sherlock for now, John puts the shortbread in the oven, setting the timer. He then proceeds to clean up the kitchen. John hums along with the tune coming out of his laptop. By the third song everything is clean and he’s set up for the next recipe. Sherlock has yet to move other than slowly blink and breathe.


	3. Jammie Dodgers and Honeybread Biscuits

John refills and starts the kettle, thinking Sherlock might want some tea when he gets out of his Mind Palace, he knows he could use another cup. While waiting he starts to measure out the ingredients for a double batch of Jammie Dodgers. 

When John is ready to proceed without Sherlock, the man finally wanders into the kitchen and sits, heavily, into a chair. 

John without preamble, “I think these are my favourites, I even like the store bought ones. I’m doubling these, a single batch doesn’t make many. We can mix these and while they chill start the honeybread biscuits, those don’t need to chill.”

Sherlock looks at John like it’s the first time he’s seen him.

John cocks his head while smiling, “I started the kettle if you want another cup of tea. Afraid it’s too early for anything stronger, not quite lunchtime yet. Speaking of which, will you eat if I make you a sandwich?”

“John, I…” Sherlock starts.

The baby monitor makes a loud noise, Rosie is awake from her morning nap. “That’s Rosie. Hold that thought while I go and get her.” John looks fondly at Sherlock, “If you want, I measured the flour, salt, butter and sugar into the bowl; wash your hands and combine them to look like crumbs. I’ll be back as fast as I can.” John pats Sherlock on the shoulder in passing.

Sherlock watches John leave before he rises to wash his hands again. He takes the two mugs out of the dishrack and places a teabag in each, ready for the kettle. With clean, dry hands he starts to work the mixture to resemble crumbs while reading the recipe for the next step.

While he’s working, just over the sound of the laptop emitting Christmas carols Sherlock hears John cooing to Rosie through the baby monitor. “Hey there baby girl. Your Uncle Sherlock is downstairs, (happy shriek) yes, yes, not so loud. We’ve been busy decorating and baking while you’ve been up here in dreamland. Let’s get you into a jumper, ah, need that arm for moment. Where’s Rosie? Ah, there you are! All ready to go see Sherlock?” Another shriek, and John chuckling.

By the time John comes back down with Rosie, Sherlock has the dough divided and each half enclosed in cling wrap ready for the fridge. “See that Rosie, Uncle Sherlock has daddy’s favourite biscuit dough all ready to chill. Maybe we should have lunch and have warm shortbread for desert then start the honeybread biscuits together… Does that sound good baby girl?”

Rosie giggles and reaches for Sherlock. “Wait a moment Watson, I have to wash the dough off my hands first.” Sherlock grabs the dirty dishes from the table and moves them to the sink when he goes to wash his hands. The kettle clicks off when he’s there so he quickly pours hot water into the two prepared mugs and places them on the table. “Okay Watson, I’m ready. Come here you!”

John hands an excited Rosie over to Sherlock who takes her to show her the ornament and stockings Mrs. Hudson sent over. John can hear Sherlock murmur to Rosie but not quite catch what he’s saying. Whatever it is they are both giggling and look very happy together. 

From the small table by the front door, John’s phone ‘dings’ with a text alert. John and Sherlock both look. The former goes to check, sending back a quick reply. “That was Greg, the ex-wife won’t let him visit his kids tonight. He’s coming here with a couple boxes of cold cases for you.” John looks at Sherlock, “I told him if he gets here by half six he can have a ham dinner with us, seems like he could use the company.”

Sherlock answers, “I should have Mycroft look into his ex and her new ‘boyfriend’.” 

John’s phone, ‘dings’ again. He glances at it, grins and sends another reply, “He’ll be here around five unless the criminal elements misbehave.”

From the kitchen, “When will Molly let you know if she’s free?”

John shoots off a quick message and sets his phone down. “I let her know when Greg is coming over, hopefully the morgue isn’t too busy today.” Walks into the kitchen, “If I make you a sandwich will you eat?” looking at Sherlock. 

Sherlock nods, “Yes, the food at that facility was inedible. I can start feeding Watson while you get our lunch ready…” pulling chair from the table with one hand and sitting, Rosie cradled in the other.

John nods, opens a cupboard and removes container of formula and a bottle. He rummages in the refrigerator for whole milk, while in there John removes sandwich makings. Preparing the bottle he pops it in the microwave for a few seconds, testing the temperature. Turning, he opens a drawer and pulls out a small towel, places all on the table next to Sherlock. 

John puts bread in the toaster and watches Sherlock start to give Rosie her bottle while waiting. Rosie is drinking contentedly while enjoying Sherlock’s attention. John is watching them so intently he jumps when the toast pops up.

Both men chuckle. John makes two sandwiches, slices up an apple between the two plates and puts them on the table. “Timer’s about to go off.” John cleans up his mess, glancing at Sherlock and Rosie every so often. By the time he has everything cleaned up, the timer buzzes. The aroma from the oven smells wonderful, getting stronger when John opens the door to remove the two trays then his Grans pan.

“Those look good.” In unison with matching grins. 

“Let me turn out Gran’s pan, hopefully the pattern comes out.” flipping the pan on a wire rack, “Yes. Should bake with you around more often. Looks perfect.” John shows Sherlock the pattern on the shortbread.

“Perfect” Sherlock, not looking at the shortbread.

“Okay, time for lunch. Want me to take over feeding Rosie so you can eat?”

“No, she’s almost done.” John walks Sherlock through how to burp a baby when she’s done.

They finish their meals quickly. John starts the kettle for another cup of tea to enjoy their biscuits with. He plates up the shortbread Sherlock decorated and places them on the table. While waiting for the kettle to heat up he mixes together spices for the next recipe. Pouring out their old tea, John prepares fresh cups and places them on the table. His phone ‘dings’ again, he walks over to check it.

“Molly, looks like she can make dinner tonight too. Good, hate to think of her with just a cat for company.”

Sherlock puzzled, “Cat? I thought she had more than one.”

“Just the one that I know of, Toby.” Pulls over the next recipe, placing it on the table between them. “Ready for our next adventure in baking?”

Sherlock reads the recipe. “You know John I love honey and just about anything made with honey… I’m not sure if I’ve ever had these before though. Mrs. Hudson caters to my tastes for ginger nuts and cream scones.”

John smiles, “We can try the scones tomorrow morning, Mrs. Hudson shared her recipe with me. Rosie should be okay in her highchair for now, we can give her a cookie to suck on.” Sherlock gives her a rectangle of shortbread after strapping her securely in the chair.

They both clean up from lunch, each keeping an eye on Rosie. They gather the ingredients for the honeybread biscuits. 

“I used the food processor last time, you want the honours this time Sherlock?” 

Sherlock’s eyes light up, “Yes, yes I would John.” Glancing at the recipe again, “Do you have a bee cutter?”

John opens the old cigar box and lifts out a cutter in the shape of a flying bee. “Gran had a small collection, these came with the shortbread pans. Let us see, what do we need to do first? I’ll measure the flour if you start the butter… I have the mixed spice in the bowl on the counter the ginger is next to it.” John turns and opens another cupboard removing brown sugar and honey. 

They take turns adding ingredients to the bowl of the food processor. When all are in John talks Sherlock through how to lock the unit together. Sherlock grins as he starts to pulse the ingredients, knocking down the sides once or twice with a rubber spatula. 

“I need to get one of these for Baker Street, it would be handy in some of my experiments!” Sherlock grins. John only groans in reply.

John grabs the rolling pin out of the dish rack while Sherlock lightly flours the table tipping the dough in the middle. Sherlock starts to roll out the dough while John readies the trays with fresh sheets of parchment paper, double checking the oven temperature. The two work as though they have been doing this for years. 

All the while Rosie is contentedly gumming her shortbread cookie while watching them work. 

As soon as Sherlock fills a tray with bee cut outs, John puts them in the oven, setting a timer. “The jammie dodgers will be ready to roll by the time we finish with these. How are holding up, need me to roll for a while?” 

Smiling, “I’m good John, I find I quite enjoy this.” Then added softly, “We’ll have to do this more often.”

“I’ve enjoyed this too Sherlock.” John pats Sherlock’s shoulder. “Since your good, I’ll mix up a quick batch of icing to decorate the bees with when they’re cooled.” John goes to his spice cabinet and pulls down black and yellow food colouring. Puts an electric hand mixer together, measures out powdered sugar, starting by gently adding water, a few drops at a time. When the sugar is moist John separates it into thirds. He prepares the yellow icing first with the mixer. When incorporated he moves onto the black, not bothering to clean the beaters. He adds a couple drops of almond flavouring and a bit more water to the white, mixing by hand. He covers all with cling wrap and sets them aside for later.

Sherlock has another tray of bee cut outs ready by the time the first batch is ready to come out of the oven. John trades trays and prepares a fresh sheet of parchment paper for Sherlock to use while the tray cools. “Thanks John, probably should have started with these and the dodgers as they require more work after they bake.”

“Yeah, but I heard you had preference for ginger nuts and I missed Grans shortbread. Who knows, if we have any left, Greg and Molly might want to get into the decorating fun?” Bumping Sherlock with his right shoulder. “Ah, you’re about done. Want the other dough?”

“In a minute, should clean the surface to avoid the transference of spices.” 

“Right, what was I thinking?” Smiling.

“What shapes did you want to use for them, what all is in your box?”

“Good question. Gran used the fluted circle with the middle from a doughnut cutter for the opening or two sizes of stars.” John opens the box, bringing out the doughnut cutter with a removable middle as well as a small star. He picks up the cutters from the dish rack. He places the fluted round with the small round one in one place and the two sizes of stars in another. Placing the open box behind them, inside is another size of doughnut cutter and a larger fluted round and a handful of cones with different shaped holes in the ends.

“Which shape is the fonder memory?” Sherlock points at the cutters.

Without hesitation John picks out the stars and places them next to Sherlock. “She made stars her last few years at Christmastime…”

Sherlock nods, “Then we’ll use the stars. Let me wipe the table down then I can roll out the last dough.”

Rosie is starting to fuss by now. John checks her, “I need to change Rosie, think I’ll put her in her bouncy chair in front of the telly after. I have a holiday cartoon for her to watch, she seems to like it. We’ll be right back, keep an ear out for the timer.”

Sherlock nods, “Will do. I’ll put the next tray in then start rolling. Take your time.”

\---

Once again Sherlock can hear John through the baby monitor, “There you go baby. You’ve been such a good girl for Uncle Sherlock. He seems to be enjoying being with you and baking. If I’d only known sooner we could have baked our way out of his strops! Oh, well, live and learn. At least now I know what to try to do.” Rustling. “Course we don’t live together anymore. Don’t tell him, but I miss him a lot. I wouldn’t trade you for the world but sometimes I wonder…” More rustling and a cough. “Best not to go down that path. One should never wonder about ‘what-ifs’, it can drive you crazy.”

When they come back downstairs John straps Rosie into a bouncy chair in front of the telly and starts a video. He powers down his laptop, hitting play on the movie. Makes sure it’s running then joins Sherlock in the kitchen. The first tray of dodgers is ready for the oven.

“You’re fast! Why did you put the small stars on a separate piece of parchment?”

“Dough toughens the more you work it, thought we could put cinnamon sugar on these.” Suggesting.

“What was another word? Oh, yeah, marvellous! I’ll mix up some cinnamon sugar, I think I’m out.” John heads over to the spice cabinet again, pulling down a partially filled jar. “Yep, need to mix more.” He takes down cinnamon and opens the sugar bin on the counter, add the ingredients to the jar. He shakes the contents together fully. John looks around and places the used spices and jars back where they belong before placing the cinnamon mixture jar on the parchment next to the small stars. “I’ll start cleaning up this mess. I have potatoes to go with the ham but don’t want to have them mashed two days in a row… any ideas?“

Rolling out more dough, “You have butter, do you have any cheese? There was something I had in the States while tying up Moriarty’s network. This place thinly sliced a potato without cutting all the way through, topped it with melted butter and grated cheese and baked it; not sure what spices were used. I remember it was very good.”

“Do you remember what it was called, we could look it up on the internet?” Interested. 

“Not really, hassle something, it came with an inedible steak... In Italy one place served them roasted. They were sliced in wedges, coated in olive oil and spices and then baked until they were crispy on the outside and creamy on the inside. That would be the easier of the two I would think.” Sherlock kept cutting and rolling dough while talking. 

“Roasted would work, I have some other vegetables that could be roasted as well. Good. Everything can be put in the oven, fantastic. We can roast the ham, root vegetables and apples all at the same time.” Happy, relaxed.

“These are ready for the oven, any more dough?” Expectant.

“Nope, we’ve finished the biscuits I had planned. Is there something from your childhood you’d like to make?” Wondering.

“You already made them. Mummy used to make me ginger nuts every Christmas. I always favoured them.” Reminiscing, a sorrowful look. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

“Mrs. Hudson told me you favoured ginger nuts, didn’t know your mum used to make them for you too. I’m glad I made them.” Smiling, “Why don’t you hang out with Rosie, there isn’t much left to clean. We can have biscuits and tea before starting to prepare supper.”

“Okay John, just don’t expect me to like her show though.” Slight scowl, teasing gleam to the eyes.

John just laughs, “Just pretend” and continues to clean, trading trays of dough when the timer chimes. When the last tray is in the oven John comes out to see what’s going on in the lounge. Sherlock is frowning at the telly, Rosie is watching in delight. Sherlock looks up at John when he comes in. John raises an eyebrow at him in question.

“What is she watching?” Sherlock asks puzzled

“’Saving Santa’, they played it at day care and she adored it so I bought a copy. Why?”

“The little elf, Bernard… He… He sounds like you!” Surprised.

“I don’t sound like that! Do I?” 

Sherlock nodding, “Yes John, you do. Come, listen…” gesturing John further into the room.

After a few minutes John stops watching the movie, semi-convinced Sherlock has lost his mind. That little elf sounds NOTHING like him! He grabs the boxes the decorations were in and stashes them in the cabinet under the stairs. Heading back to the kitchen when the timer dings.


	4. Suppertime

“Okay, it’s almost three, the ham should go in the oven by five but I don’t want to be stuck in the kitchen when Greg and Molly get here… Can you help me get the root vegetables ready to roast?” John questions Sherlock.

“Sure, what about the… apples?” Questioned. 

“I have some lemon to stop them browning, we can get them ready and keep everything chilled until ready to use.” 

“What about Watson?”

“Time for her afternoon nap I think, don’t want her to be grumpy later.”

“You didn’t cook supper often when you were at Baker Street.”

“No, I didn’t feel up to it much after working a double shift at the clinic or running around chasing after you for a case. We ate a lot of take-out. Mrs. Hudson provided a few more meals than ‘not a housekeeper’ should have as well.” Grinning, “I did do a few, you didn’t always eat, or you ate without realizing.”

“I ate without…? When have I not realized what I was doing?” Incredulous.

“Ah, I shouldn’t have mentioned that… if you are engrossed in something on the laptop, microscope or even in your Mind Palace, I’ve found that if I put food within easy reach, you’ll eat it. You’ve eaten quartered sandwiches, pieces of fruit, eggrolls and biscuits… finger food essentially. You also drank if placed within reach as well, even while on a case.”

“Is that why you and Mrs. Hudson looked smug every so often?”

“That would be it, she noticed and used the trick as well when I had double shifts.” Smiling.

“Explains why I lost so much weight when I…” John pales, clenches his fists, “had to go away. No one fed me up. I am so sorry about that, truly I am.” Sherlock pleads.

“I know, I just wished you hadn’t jumped off of the bloody roof in front of me. Nasty trick to play on a friend who already suffers with PTSD. Let’s change the subject, I don’t want to be upset on Christmas Eve.”

“I’m sorry. Right, what were we… Oh, yeah. Watson, I’ll go wash my hands.”

The boys finish preparations for dinner, clean up and even have time to set the table. Sherlock raids the decoration box, grabbing a small piece of garland, winding it around the base of a candle and tucking in a few stray baubles around for a centrepiece. 

Before leaving the kitchen they do the final decorations to the biscuits. Arranging some on a plate for after supper, dusting them with icing sugar. Storing the remainder in tins.

“That went a lot faster than I thought. It’s a little after four did you want to shower or?”

“I’m fine for now John, I may shower before bed. I will change my shirt however, there’s a bit of flour on this one. Yours too.” Pointing and smiling. “Why don’t I start the kettle and we can have tea and biscuits. Relax a bit and enjoy the quiet while we can.”

“Right. I’ll go, and, ah, change into a clean shirt then. Be right back.” John pops upstairs to change. 

The few minutes John was away, Sherlock starts the kettle, prepared a tray with a plate of assorted biscuits and two mugs for tea. He restarted John’s laptop, plugged it in and started Christmas carols playing again softly. Lit the candles on the mantle, and got a fire ready to set alight in the hearth.

John walks down the stairs and stops, taking a moment to appreciate what was accomplished in such a short amount of time. Muttered to himself, “Where was this Sherlock when we lived together?” Wandering over to the kitchen to check the tea preparations. “You’ve been busy, was I gone that long?”

“No. The kettle hasn’t boiled yet. I’ll just pop off and change now. I’ll return momentarily.”

John watches him go before lighting the fire and diming the lights a bit. Hearing the kettle click off, he prepares a pot of tea, feeling he might need more than just one cup. He then readies the kettle to switch on again after supper. As he sits on the couch with the tray of tea and biscuits on the coffee table in front of him, Sherlock comes back down wearing his aubergine shirt.

Déjà vu as Sherlock states, “You’ve been busy, was I gone that long?” they both giggle.

“No. The kettle just boiled.” John pats the cushion next to him on the sofa and pours the tea. “Sit, we can relax for a while until Greg and Molly get here.”

\---

A few minutes after five, John opens the door when the bell chimes. 

“Happy Holidays John! Where’s Sherlock? I have a couple boxes in the boot for him, could use help bringing them in.”

From behind John, Sherlock greets, “Lestrade”.

John and Sherlock both follow Greg out to his car. John and Sherlock retrieve the case files, Greg grabs a case of beer. 

Once in the house again, John looks around and places his box behind the tree, Sherlock stacks his on top. Greg leaves the beer in the kitchen, helping himself to a bottle, chugging half.

“Bad day?” asks John picking up Rosie, crawling toward the tree.

“Not really, issues with the ex, the new ‘boyfriend’ won’t let me see the kids. Jealous arsehole, but his house, his rules.” Takes another swig of beer.

“Can’t you take the kids back to your place to visit? Your house, your rules…” Sherlock wonders.

“Nope, too young to come on their own and the arse won’t let me pick them up curb side in his posh gated neighbourhood.”

“Surely there’s something that could be done? I mean, they’re your kids too. You have a right to see them!” John supplies.

Sherlock takes out his phone, “What’s his name, the boyfriend?”

“Rayford, Paul Rayford.” Lestrade states. “I already tried to find something on him with no luck.”

Sherlock sends a text to Mycroft. ‘What can you find for Lestrade on a Paul Rayford? - SH’. Addressed to Greg, “We’ll see what Mycroft can dig up on him.”

“Thanks Sherlock” Greg answers.

“Excellent, if someone can find something on that arse, it’ll be a Holmes!” John praises Sherlock.

As Greg chugs the rest of his beer, the doorbell chimes again. Sherlock goes to open the door. 

“Oh! Happy Christmas Sherlock, I was expecting John...”

“Happy Christmas Molly, John is in the lounge with Greg and Rosie.” Taking her coat and scarf, hanging them up next to Greg’s. She leaves her bag on the table next to John phone.

“Smells good in here, John’s been baking?” Molly inquires

“We both have.” Sherlock answers stepping into the lounge

“Both of you? I can’t picture you baking.” Molly giggles.

“It’s just chemistry…” Sherlock begins.

“Sherlock was very helpful, he assisted preparing dinner and helped decorate too.” John adds.

Greg declares, ”Sherlock helped? Oh God, we’re all going to be poisoned!”

Sherlock, upset, starts to open his mouth but John beats him to it, “Oi! Greg, stop!” angry, commanding. Sherlock quickly takes Rosie from a pissed John.

A subdued Greg apologizes, “Sorry mate, having a bad day, shouldn’t take it out on you.” Patting Sherlock on the arm. “I’m getting another beer, anyone want anything?” 

“I’ll grab some crisps and nuts. Want a glass of wine Molly?” John asks following Greg.

“Please. Can I help with anything?” Molly inquires.

“No, I got it.” John grabs himself a beer, a glass of red wine for Molly and a couple fingers of liquor for Sherlock. Opens a cupboard and pulls down a bag of crisps and a jar of nuts. He puts it all on the now empty tray used for tea earlier to take back out. 

Molly takes her glass, “Thanks”

John hands Sherlock a tumbler of scotch, “Thank you John” Sherlock says quietly.

John kisses Rosie on the cheek and pats Sherlock’s arm, “Thank you. Need me to take her back?” he asks low.

“No, we’re good. Aren’t we Watson?” Sherlock fusses with Rosie, smiling. “We’ll hang out on the couch for a bit, won’t we?” 

Molly sits next to Sherlock to play with Rosie as well.

John takes Greg aside to lowly growl at him, “What is wrong with you? Sherlock just got out of rehab this morning. He’s trying to help you see your kids and you decide to pick on him, today of all days?”

“I said I was sorry John” Greg replies regretfully. “I’ll behave, I was thrown off my game. I’ve never known him to cook before… what he did today with you is a first. He, he cooked and decorated John! Sherlock helped cook edible food!” 

Exasperated, still growling low, “He has cooked before Greg, he’s made me tea, toast and heated tinned soup when I’ve been sick. This is nothing new…”

“That’s news to me!” lowering his voice. “The only things I’ve ever seen him cook are drugs and the odd experiment.” Honestly earnest. “I’ll behave from now on, don’t worry.”

“Good, I don’t want him upset Greg. Now go eat something if you’re going to drink like a fish. I don’t need you drunk,” John points at Greg, “and that’s your last beer before supper.” John marches away to sit next to Sherlock and Molly playing with Rosie.

Sherlock leans in to whisper in John’s ear, “What was that about?”

John murmurs back, “I’ll tell you later.” Sherlock looks at him, “I promise.” John looks at Molly, “How’s Toby these days Molly?”

Molly starts talking about her cat and all the antics he’s been up to. John notices Sherlock nodding at the correct places even smiling, albeit slightly strained, at some of Toby’s escapades around her flat. She talks, dominating the conversation regaling the men with her cat’s adventures. John relaxes with his arm over the back of the couch, behind a tranquil Sherlock bouncing Rosie on his knee. 

When Molly stops extolling Toby, John gets up to head into the kitchen to check on supper. Sherlock hands Rosie over to Molly and follows John.

“It is later John, what is wrong?” asked low.

“Later Sherlock, I promise to tell you after they go home. Okay?” John waits for Sherlock to acknowledge his request with a quick nod. “Alright, since you’re here you can help me. Put the roasted apples in a bowl.” John pulls the ham, apples and roasted root vegetables out of the oven. Sherlock plates the apples and vegetables while John carves the ham. They place all on the table. “Looks good Sherlock, thanks. Why don’t you call in Molly and Greg while I get Rosie’s bottle ready?”

“Right” Sherlock turns and raises his voice to call out, “Supper is on the table.” Molly squeaks from the couch. 

Behind him John laughs out, “I could have done that!” Sherlock looks at him blushing.

Molly walks into the kitchen, carrying Rosie on her hip followed by Greg with his empty beer bottle and Molly’s wine glass.

John waves a hand at the table, “Sit anywhere, just leave me a space by the highchair.”

Sherlock had his hand on the back of the chair on the other side of Rosie’s chair and sits before either Greg or Molly can react. Greg pulls out one of the remaining chairs for Molly. “Look’s good guys, smells good too.” Greg offers as he sits down.

“Ta Greg” John replies handing him another cold beer, refills Molly’s glass and gives himself and Sherlock glasses of red wine as well, taking Rosie before sitting down. 

Supper continues without a hitch, Sherlock and John take turns feeding Rosie her bottle. Mostly John but Sherlock insists on helping burp her after she finishes. Conversion strays to safe and sane topics. Food is consumed, not too much alcohol. Greg limited himself to three beers as he needs to drive himself home at some point, and doesn’t want to do so drunk or get John mad at him again.

Molly and Greg help John clear the table and put out cups for tea and biscuits. John readies the tea pot as Molly helps load the dishwasher as Greg hands her the dishes. Sherlock entertains Rosie.

“What say we go to the lounge? We can watch something on the telly, BBC One is showing a Doctor Who marathon. There are a couple holiday films on other stations and I have a couple disks…” John suggests.

Sherlock answers first, “Not that cartoon elf thing you had on earlier.” Picking up Rosie, stopping under the mistletoe to give her a quick peck on the cheek before continuing on with another berry.

Molly and Greg look confused as John bursts out laughing, “No, I won’t subject you to that again tonight.” John exclaims to Sherlock’s retreating back.

\---

“Goodnight, drive safe you two. Give me a text before you come over tomorrow so I can be sure to clean up the morning mess.” John calls from the door, saying goodbye to Greg and Molly.

“Ok John, they’re gone. What were you talking to Lestrade about that go you so mad earlier?” Demanding, impatient.

Shutting the door and turning, “You! I was on his case about you! I,” growled. Sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose, “bloody hell” cough, “I didn’t want him to upset you. You had even asked Mycroft to help him. Mycroft!” waving both hands in the air, “To see if he could dig up something on the boyfriend. You were just released today, I didn’t want you to leave… start using again.” 

Sherlock snorts, “Mycroft threatened if I walk outside without you, his minions will drag me back to rehab. I can’t even so much as take out the trash without you present.” Sherlock looks John in the eyes, “I am a prisoner here, and you are my guard. Though I must say this jail is much nicer than the one I was in before.”

“Oh Sherlock! I’m definitely going to have a long talk with that idiot brother of yours!” John clenches a fist. “He didn’t tell me you couldn’t leave or he’d send you back. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I did it to myself this time.” Deep sigh. “I’m tired, I didn’t sleep well in that facility. I think I’ll head off to bed. You coming?”

“I’ll be up in a minute, want to make sure everything is locked up before going to bed.” John waves Sherlock up the stairs. When John is sure Sherlock is upstairs he places the gifts from Father Christmas for Sherlock and Rosie under the tree as well as a few items in their stockings. Pulling the dirty tablecloth off the table, he starts a quick load of laundry. He does indeed check the locks and make sure all the lights are out before heading upstairs.

Sherlock had changed into his pyjamas, covered by a dressing gown, and was brushing his teeth when John comes in to grab his pyjamas. Sherlock leaves the loo as John goes in to brush his teeth. 

“Goodnight Sherlock. If you need anything I’ll be in with Rosie.” John starts to walk out when ready for bed.

“John I cannot allow you to sleep on that monstrosity! You would wake in agony if you were even able to fall asleep. There is obviously room enough for two in your bed, we’ve shared before. I do not see a problem. I’ll sleep on the floor, it would be better.” Determined.

Slumping his shoulders in defeat, “Okay Sherlock, I give. I’ll sleep in the bed with you. What side do you want?”


	5. Cream Scones

It’s dark when John wakes, extremely comfortable, vaguely aware of strong arms holding him against a warm body. It takes him a moment to realize that Mary is dead. He tenses. Who? Oh, right, Sherlock. Okay. He relaxes back to sleep.

It’s dark when Sherlock wakes, extremely comfortable, vaguely aware of holding a warm body against himself. It takes him a moment to realize where he is and who he is holding. He tenses. He hears Rosie making noises through the baby monitor and gently extracts himself, without waking John, to go check on her. 

“Shhhh little bee. We don’t want to wake John, he needs his sleep.” Sherlock whispers as he picks up Rosie, realizing her diaper is wet. How hard could it be? He has watched John, Mary and Molly change her before. Sherlock quietly hums a tune while successfully getting the soggy nappy off, cleans and powders Rosie and replaces it with a new nappy. By the time he’s done Rosie is half asleep from the humming and quietly drifts off when he places her back in her crib.

Since he’s up anyway, Sherlock quietly grabs the box Anthea had dropped off that he stashed in the master bedroom earlier and heads downstairs. He places the gifts from Father Christmas for John and Rosie under the tree and a few of items in their stockings. He leaves the now empty box in the closet on top of the ornament boxes and wanders back upstairs to bed.

John is on his back, moaning and squirming in his sleep when Sherlock walks back in. Sherlock rushes to the bedside and lowly calls out, “You’re safe John. Nothing is going to hurt you.” Sherlock continues the litany until John’s breathing evens out. Sherlock softly lays down, gently and slowly wraps his arms back around John again, who shifts closer, relaxes and drifts into a nightmare free sleep. Sherlock quickly follows.

It is daylight when John next wakes. Extremely comfortable, with his arms wrapped around a warm, firm body. He tenses. 

“Good morning John. No, don’t panic, relax. It’s fine, it’s all fine.” Sherlock murmurs, turning his head to look at John over his shoulder, “Happy Christmas John.”

John relaxes, loosening his hold on Sherlock, “Happy Christmas Sherlock. I’m sorry, I must have spooned you in my sleep.”

Sherlock pats John’s hand, still lightly holding him, “Nothing to be sorry for John. I… I find I quite like it. Comfortable. Warm…” Sherlock sighs, relaxing into John’s embrace. 

“No. I have a LOT to be sorry for Sherlock. I am so sorry I hit you when you came back. I am so sorry I hit you again in the morgue. There was no excuse for it. I was angry with you. I was angry with Mary. Most of all I was angry with myself. I am sorry, I will do my best to never hit you again.”

“John, I have already forgiven you. I deserved it, all of it.” Sherlock rolls over in John’s embrace so they are facing one another. Everything was my fault. If I hadn’t played any of Moriarty’s games I would not have had to leave. It was… difficult… being away.”

“I still don’t understand why you had to leave. Why go, especially that way. I still have nightmares of you falling…” 

“Moriarty would have killed Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and you had I not jumped. Mycroft can verify, but Moriarty shot himself in the head to prevent anyone being able to call off the snipers he had on you three. I couldn’t let them kill you… a world without John Watson in it, isn’t worth living in.” Sherlock has unshed tears in his eyes. “You were not supposed to be there to watch me fall, I had arranged for you to be with Mrs. Hudson.”

“So it’s my fault…” Angry.

“NO! Nothing is your fault! I keep forgetting you’re not as big an idiot as everyone else. You suspected something was wrong and you came back to me. I was beyond help once Moriarty committed suicide though. I never wanted to hurt you, I failed to realize the depth of your feelings for me. For that I am truly sorry.” Embarrassed, humble.

“Promise me something Sherlock.” Earnest. 

“Anything John.” Intense.

“Never do something like that to me again. Please. Promise me, never again.” Serious.

“I could never do that again.” Sincere. Sherlock stares intently into John’s eyes.

“The drugs either, I won’t expose Rosie to that.” Deadly serious.

“I promise, never again. As long as I have you as my friend.”

John nods, “Good, right, good.” John stays where he is, enjoying the moment while it lasts. Changing the subject, “Rosie gave me a Christmas gift last night, she didn’t wake during the night needing a dry nappy. I may be able to function properly again with a decent amount of sleep.”

“I heard her and got up last night, you were sleeping.” John looks at him, surprised. “I’ve watched you and Molly change her, it wasn’t that hard. She went right back to sleep, I was up less than fifteen minutes.” John is still looking at him a bit dumbfounded.

John gives his head a quick shake. “Sorry. I’m, stunned. I never thought you would ever change a nappy unless you wanted it for an experiment.” Sherlock looks at him wounded. “I’m sorry, I just… Fuck. Thank you Sherlock, truly. That was the best night sleep I’ve had in a long, long time.” Patting Sherlock’s arm.

Sherlock is mollified, “You’re welcome John. So, you mentioned scones for breakfast? Are we baking again?” Stomach growling, eager, grinning.

John laughs, “Git. I’ll hit the loo then go check on Rosie, see if she’s awake. We’ll meet downstairs, okay?” Rising, pulling on his dressing gown. “Mrs. Hudson shared her recipe, I had to swear I wouldn’t share it with anyone.” Closing the door to the loo.

When John comes out, Sherlock is gone along with the old blue dressing gown that was draped over the end of the bed. Rosie is not in her room but there is evidence of a nappy having been changed very recently. About half way down the stairs, John hears Christmas carols playing softly. Sherlock, holding Rosie, is just plugging in the last set of fairy lights over the window when John walks in the lounge.

John crosses the room to kiss Rosie on the cheek, “Happy Christmas baby.” He looks around, spots the extra packages under the tree. “Looks like someone was very good this year, Father Christmas left quite a few presents for you.” John glances up at Sherlock, “Tea?”

Sherlock clears his throat, “Please”, softly.

John hesitates a moment then goes toward the kitchen to fill and start the kettle. Standing in the archway he asks, “Sherlock, do you want to open gifts first or make the scones? Makes no difference to me.”

Sherlock glances at John, puts Rosie down then steps over. He reaches up to pluck a berry off the mistletoe then kisses John softly on the lips. “Scones? They can cook while we open the gifts.” Sherlock looks at the berry on his palm, “What am I supposed to do with this now?”

Smiling, “You know, I’m not sure. We’ll have to research it. I do know they are toxic, so don’t drop it on the floor or in the food. Think mine is in the pocket of my trousers still. Okay then, scones.” Looks around Sherlock and frowns, “First we should put someone in either her highchair or her bouncy seat.” 

Sherlock looks behind him and quickly picks up Rosie before she can pull an ornament off the tree. “No, no Watson. The baubles are only for looking at” he murmurs at her, placing the berry in the pocket of his dressing gown.

Sherlock can hear John rummaging in the kitchen when he turns around from picking up Rosie. He follows the noises, “I’m surprised Mrs. Hudson was willing to share her famous scone recipe.”

“Well, yeah. I prescribed her something a bit more effective for her hip than the ‘herbal soothers’ after you… (cough) she was grateful.” John smirks. “I had to promise not to give the recipe to anyone.”

Sherlock stands tall and gets a haughty expression, “I’m not just anyone John.”

John can’t help the giggle, “No, that you are not my friend.”

Sherlock blushes, “I’m still your friend?” quietly.

John, seriously surprised, “Of course. Of course you are Sherlock, you’re my best friend.” Laying a hand on Sherlock’s arm, giving a gentle squeeze. John jumps when the kettle clicks off, smiles at Sherlock and Rosie, goes over to make a pot of tea. It’s taken John awhile for him to realize, but as he’s pouring boiling water into the teapot it hits him; Mary’s ‘ghost’ has been absent, since just before Sherlock arrived… and he’s been happy, relaxed. He finishes making tea on autopilot, handing Sherlock his prepared cup. 

Sherlock gives John a look, and smiles, “Thank you John.” His stomach growls again, “Now that scone recipe…” 

John gives himself a mental shake, “Right, I have the copy of Mrs. Hudson recipe on the counter. She has a secret to her recipe, yoghurt.” Sherlock makes a face, “Yeah, I know. You don’t like yoghurt, but, you do in Mrs. Hudson’s scones.” John opens the refrigerator, removing a small tub of vanilla yoghurt and a container of cream, grabbing a measuring cup off the counter. “She said she collected this recipe while in Florida. Ok.” Skimming the recipe, opening a drawer and removes a rubber spatula. “We put the yoghurt in then add enough milk to make one cup, then add a quarter teaspoon of vanilla extract.” John follows the instructions, noticing out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock strapping Rosie into her highchair. 

When Sherlock is free, “Can you wash your hands then pull the food processor out?” to Sherlock.

While Sherlock complies, John measures out the flour, leavening, salt and sugar. Combining them on a sheet of baking parchment. Sherlock sets up the food processor as John grabs a cube of butter out of the refrigerator. “Right, now we follow the notes Mrs. H made rather than the recipe directions… Let’s see, cut the butter in half lengthwise and then cut each half into 6-8 slices.” John does so. “Next we add the dry ingredients to the food processor.” Sherlock does so. “Add butter.” John hands the cutting board with the butter to Sherlock. John reads the next note, “Process until butter is well combined, and mixture looks crumbly.”

Sherlock locks on the top and starts to pulse the processor. When it looks the right consistency he asks John, “What is the next step?”

John reads both the recipe and Mrs. Hudson’s notes, “If we want to add currants or raisins now is the time to do so.” John looks up, seeing the scowl on Sherlock’s face, “Nope, no fruit then.” Reading again from Mrs. Hudson’s notes, “Add the yoghurt and milk mixture until the dough forms a ball.” 

Sherlock pulses and pours at the same time, stopping when the dough forms a ball. “Next?” he asks of John.

Back to Mrs. Hudson’s notes, “Ok, now we turn it out onto a lightly floured surface and cut dough in half.” John watches while Sherlock uses the knife John cut the butter with to divide the dough. He looks back at Mrs. H’s notes, “Pat each half into a circle about 15 centimetres in diameter, or about 2 centimetres thick.” John reaches back for a larger knife from the rack on the counter, “Cut each circle into 6-wedges, no sawing motion. Push down and lift the blade, the scones will rise higher if the dough isn’t pressed together.”

John watches Sherlock do the cutting, “Excellent!” John reaches over to the hob collecting the baking pan there and grabbing the parchment paper he used to measure the dry ingredients. “Put them about 2 centimetres apart. At this point we can brush them with cream and sprinkle with them with sanding sugar or leave them plain.” 

“That’s half the joy of scones John, the sweet crunchy top.”

Grinning, “I don’t know what I was thinking… hold on while I grab the cream and sugar.” He finds them, pulling a pastry brush out of the drawer the spatula came out of. He pours some cream into the used measuring cup and hands it over along with the brush. “I’ll do the sugar if you don’t mind.” 

Sherlock carefully and methodically brushes cream over the top of each scone, before stepping back. “Ready for the final touch John.”

John, carefully and liberally applies the sugar. “Right, now we bake them for 13-15 minutes.” Sherlock puts the pan in the oven while John adjusts the temperature. “Had to preheat the oven to a higher temperature.” Sherlock sets the timer. John looks around the kitchen, not too big a mess. They are getting neater the more they bake.

John looks at Sherlock, “We can have tea and scones in the lounge when they’re done. What do you say we start on the presents then?” rising an eyebrow in question, grinning.

John is not sure if he’s ever seen Sherlock move that fast. Before he knows it Sherlock has unstrapped Rosie and both of them are in the other room, Sherlock calling out, “John, stockings first!” Not expecting to find anything in his stocking, John slowly follows.

The sight that greets him is one he wishes he had his camera for. Sherlock is smiling excitedly, pointing out the filled stockings to Rosie, all three of them. John feels his face break out in an excited grin.

“Well, looks like we’ve all been good this year” John laughs coming over to take down Rosie’s stocking. “Let’s see what Santa brought you baby…” Without a word, both men drop to sit on the floor in front of the cold hearth, knees almost touching. Sherlock props Rosie up in his lap as John begins to remove the contents of her stocking. “I know Santa meant for Uncle Sherlock and me to have most of the candy canes this year, but you can try them with supervision” putting them out of her reach. Next out is a surprise for John, who grins, “Look baby” squeezing the toy, making it buzz, “A fuzzy buzzing bee!”

Rosie giggles and reaches both hands for the toy. John playfully flies it over to her, Rosie hugs the toy and starts to suck on a wing. John mouths a silent ‘thank you’ to Sherlock who nods in acknowledgement.

Sherlock bounces Rosie a bit in his lap while asking, “What else has Father Christmas brought you?” Looking John in the eyes.

John reaches back into the stocking, pulling out a stuffed hedgehog toy he put in. He gives it a gentle squeeze making it grunt. Once again Rosie giggles and reaches a hand to the toy. She doesn’t drop the bee. John makes the toy friskily bounce its way over into her grip. Rosie hugs both toys to herself, delighted. John glances at Sherlock and is transfixed at the look of pure bliss on his face watching Rosie with her toys. 

\---

The Personal Blog of  
Dr. John H. Watson  
25th December

Happy Christmas

Just wanted to wish everyone a Happy Christmas. Rosie and I have a visitor, our favourite Consulting Detective is spending some time with us. 

We must have been very good this year as Father Christmas brought us some lovely gifts. Rosie ended up with a few new soft toys and several books that I remember fondly from my youth, I know I will enjoy reading them to her. I have a silk dressing gown in a lovely shade of blue and sturdy warm gloves. Sherlock received rosin and strings for his violin (the type he likes no less!) as well as some sheet music he didn’t have and some new composition sheets.

I was surprised to see so many homemade items this year. I know I tried my hand at knitting this year; my therapist recommended I try it, we’ll see how that goes. I was thrilled to open a package from Sherlock’s mother to find a lovely knit blanket for Rosie and a jumper for me. Rosie is all set for blankets for a while, Mrs. Hudson crochet her a large blanket as well. Not to be outdone, Mrs. H also knit Rosie a hat and the most adorable mittens.

Once again, Happy Christmas everyone!

\---

“What time are Greg and Molly coming over?” Sherlock wonders, from the floor, looking around the battlefield of wrapping paper and boxes littering the recently immaculate room.

“Hmmm?” John is sitting on the couch reading Rosie’s new book, Treasure Island. Finally looking up, he spots Sherlock smirking at him. “What? I enjoyed this book as a young boy too!” blushing. Without marking the page he closes the book. “We can start reading it to her tonight if you want.” Thinking back to the original question. “They should be over sometime around 2, they’re supposed to text before coming over so I can clean up a bit.” Glancing at his watch. “Should start the turkey pretty soon too, can you watch Rosie for a bit?”

Sherlock frowns, “I thought I could help again. There must be something I can do?” hopeful. Sherlock will never admit it, but he’s been enjoying spending time in the kitchen with John.

“Well, now that you mention it, I’ll need someone to chop some onions and celery for the stuffing. They’ll probably have to use the food processor…” John giggles at the light in Sherlock’s eyes, “First we should probably shower and get dressed.” Looking around, “Why don’t you go first and I’ll start tidying up.” Rising he remembers the load in the washer he started last night and decides to put that in the dryer before he forgets about it again.

Sherlock was sitting on the floor playing with Rosie and her new toys. Glancing around he starts balling up paper and tossing it toward the firebox. “We can use some of the paper to start another fire later.”

Sherlock hears John exclaim from the kitchen, “Brilliant!”

\---

John was busy while Sherlock was upstairs. The empty gift boxes were folded and sitting by the front door, ready for the recycle bin. Wrapping paper and the papers from inside the boxes was crumpled in the firebox with kindling awaiting a match. Logs were piled in the rack beside the hearth. Rosie’s books were stacked, neatly, on an end table, her blankets over the back of the couch and a side chair for now. Rosie’s new clothes were put in her room. The new stuffed toys from Father Christmas she refuses to let out of her sight without a fuss.

Showered, shaved and dressed in black slacks and a white button down shirt, Sherlock comes back downstairs to find John vacuuming the lounge. Rosie is happily bouncing in her bouncy seat, bee buzzing away in her hands, and the hedgehog at her feet.

In the kitchen, there is a pot on the hob with the giblets from the turkey boiling away with rough cuts of carrots, celery and onion. The turkey is in the clean sink awaiting its fate. More carrots, celery and onions are sitting on the drain board. 

A bread machine is churning away on the counter. Next to it is a bag of fresh cranberries and a few oranges. A pile of white and sweet potatoes, next to a sack of sprouts.

\---

“What are we making now John?”

“Eggnog, saw the recipe on the telly a few years back. Sounded good, made a batch and it was some of the best I’d ever tasted. Figured we could make a batch this year. I did make a couple modifications though, my Grandmother always added vanilla and cinnamon to hers.

\---

The turkey is cooked and carved, two types of mashed potatoes (white and sweet) are in bowls beside the stuffing, orange-cranberry sauce, roasted sprouts and the fresh bread still warm from the machine on the counter. Molly, Greg, John and Sherlock are all happily tipsy from their mugs of eggnog. They do, however, enjoy the bottle of chardonnay John had chilling in the refrigerator to go along with their meal.

John, sitting next to Sherlock at the table, pats him on the shoulder, “It’s great we finally get to be together and actually sit down to eat a Christmas dinner together. Last year we never did get to eat your mother’s cooking.” Seeing the confused looks on Greg and Molly’s faces. “Sherlock spent most of last Christmas in the custody of MI5, or was that MI6? Anyway, in Mycroft’s custody, suspected for the murder of that bastard Charles Augustus Magnussen.”

“Not to mention our first Christmas was interrupted by The Woman faking her death.” Sherlock’s adds.

“Then not being together on subsequent one’s where I thought Sherlock was dead.” John adds sorrowfully. Putting a grin on his face, John continues, “But, we’re not going to dwell on those! We’re going to enjoy tonight! I say we make it a tradition from now on? I’m more than happy to host again, especially with the helper I had today. (cough) You should spend Christmas with those you care about the most…” 

They all clink their glasses of wine together in agreement.

\---

John checked the door and windows to be sure they were locked before taking Rosie upstairs to get her ready for bed. Foot on the bottom step, he looks over at Sherlock, “You coming? I thought we could start reading Rosie one of her new books tonight.”

Looking up from the couch where Sherlock was leafing through a book John had gifted him of violin solos of the masters, “John?”

Smiling, “Just grab one, any of them will do. Turn off the lights when you come up, yeah?” Motioning with his head for Sherlock to follow them up the stairs he walks up.

Hastily Sherlock unplugs the fairly lights on the tree and around the room. John left the light in the stairwell on. He grabs ‘Treasure Island’ off the coffee table and quickly follows John up the stairs.

From the doorway Sherlock starts reading, “*Part One, The Old Buccaneer. 

“The Old Sea-Dog and the Admiral Benbow. Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the who particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in the year of grace 17 – and go back to the time when my father kept the Admiral Benbow Inn and the brown old seaman with the sabre cut first took up his lodging under our roof…”

They bring the book to the bedroom with them after Rosie falls asleep. They figure she’s too young to remember where the story left off, they can finish the chapter at least. Sherlock continues to read aloud, while John lays down under the covers, curled on his side, facing Sherlock. The last thing John remembers before falling asleep is Sherlock’s baritone voice lowly singing with a pirate accent:

_“*Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest_  
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!  
Drink and the devil had done for the rest  
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”


End file.
